Talking a walk around this old and refurbished quarter of Old Havana, where one always seems to find something new, something one missed during a previous stroll among the ancient buildings, is very agreeable experience.
Read MoreIt would be worth asking ourselves, however, what “normal” would be when it comes to sex. Can sexual preferences be classified in any way? I don’t think they can. There are so many different forms of sexual conduct that any treatise on them would be endless.
Read MoreI had recent news of two deaths; one at the end of last year and the other early this year. First came the death of brother of a good friend who lives in the United States, then the mother of Veronica, my friend and colleague.
Read MoreTo follow the latest fashion, Cuban teenagers shave their pelvises and genitals. Many don’t even like to have peach fuzz on their faces. Before this dominant trend, there are apparently only two alternatives: either we shave or accept being labeled savages.
Read MoreWhile I was studying at the Technical Institute for Hotel and Tourism Services, a terrible accusation was leveled at me: I was accused me of being a prostitute – and not just any prostitute, but one who sold their favors to foreigners.
Read MoreThe other day, a friend of mine (who’s quite the oldies fan) gave me a CD with music by Wham!, a duo that was very popular in the 80s. Listening to it, I thought that, though commercial and deliberately catchy, their music was quite agreeable and harmless.
Read MoreThe first words out of her mouth were: “I slept with a black man.” That direct phrase left me speechless. After all, it wasn’t like my friend to say such things. I wanted to know more, but I noticed she wasn’t comfortable talking about it.
Read MoreA friend of mine who left the country recently told me that, after he’d earned a lot of money, he would treat me to silicone breast implants. When he told me of this “great gift”, I burst out laughing. Then, I asked myself: why would I want breast implants? Don’t I have my own breasts?
Read MoreHe doesn’t look like a former sailor. He is too big, he seems to have lost his gracefulness at sea, along with all of the hopes he had in his youth. Jose Manuel is now forty-two. He lives on Campanario (“Bellfry”) street, in Havana’s neighborhood of Centro Habana. Those bells, however, no longer toll for him. The only thing he thinks about is how to leave the city of his birth, how to escape his country, which he calls “hell”.
Read MoreTwo days ago, a friend of mine who’s a writer arrived in Cuba. Fascinated by the descriptions of the architectural beauty, museums and historical sites of Old Havana I had sent him in my emails, he wanted to start his tour of the city in the old part of town.
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